Random notes in the aftermath of my granddaughter’s visit
§ Ringing in the New Year with a 4-year-old is a lot more fun than you might think. While the rest of the world was watching the ball fall — or the big walleye if you happened to be at Put-In-Bay — little Kiley and I were watching a vintage Disney cartoon. It was in black and white, which means it was even older than her grandpa.
Not much is. Especially in her world.
Kiley would much rather have been watching what she calls “princess” cartoons, a genre that would be foreign to me if it weren’t for her. Prior to New Year’s Eve, I had relented, allowing her to watch what I call “snarky fluff chick cartoons.”
OK, I get it. They send messages about the values of working together and good triumphing over evil. However, at the risk of sounding prudish, these cartoons inevitably seem to drag our daughters and granddaughters through oceans of mud and sleaze to get there. The folks who produce them — Disney and (pre-dildo) Hasbro to name a few — argue that the ends justify the means.
I disagree. Kiley is pretty sharp, but I’d imagine the bitchy attitudes and the emphasis on being sexy, skinny and popular resonate just as strongly as the positive themes. Maybe more so.
On New Year’s Eve, we struck a compromise, watching “Brave Little Toaster” and classic Disney cartoons.
§ Kiley remained awake until 12:30 a.m. New Year’s Day. She probably would have fallen asleep before midnight had she not taken ill Tuesday. The ordeal threw her natural clock out of whack.
As I’d mentioned in previous posts, we had a great time during her five-day visit — feeding the birds, playing hide and seek in the pasture, camping in a tent in the basement and just being silly. However, on the day before New Year’s Eve, she grew listless and developed a high temperature. By early evening, she was down for the count, unable to sleep but unable to move — except to sit up and drink water.
I kept her mother posted via text messages, although I wasn’t overly concerned. I’d been through it before, with Kiley’s mother, my son and even my kid brother, who had bouts with pneumonia.
By New Year’s Day, Kiley was up and bouncing off the walls once again.
The resilience of children never ceases to amaze me.
I suppose she’ll also recover from the negative influences of her “snarky fluff chick cartoons.” I’m not sure I will.